


the players and the games

by santanico



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Emotional Manipulation, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-24
Updated: 2013-05-24
Packaged: 2017-12-12 21:38:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 886
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/816325
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/santanico/pseuds/santanico
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Abigail Hobbs will stand before the challenge of having a serial killer attempt to play the role of a parent with nothing more than prestige and finesse. She is the most well-carved piece on the board.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the players and the games

**Author's Note:**

> Mentions of cannibalism, murder, violence.

Abigail Hobbs does not fear the murderer standing in front of her. 

Instead, she starts to giggle.

 _Hannibal – cannibal._ The words are so hilarious in her head. She rests her palms on the kitchen counters, squeezing the edges as she tries to keep her laughter from bubbling up to the surface and escaping. She fails, and there’s an edge in the way she giggles. She can feel his gaze fixed on her back, and slaps a hand over her mouth. She’s ready to double-over from the hilarity, the dramatic irony of reality.

“Abigail?” His voice is consistently dark, always reverberating throughout whatever room he’s in. The thickness of his accent, one that Abigail doesn’t recognize, only strikes her as strange upon their first meeting – after that it becomes commonplace and something she loves to hear. Hannibal’s voice rolls over people like thunder, and he commands the stage the way a lead actor should.

“It’s just…” Abigail wipes her mouth and presses her lips together, sighing as she gains control. A giggle tries to rise up again as she remembers the rhyme but she swallows it down. “How do they not realize? Even your name – I mean…” _Can I say it out loud? Will it be half as funny if I do? Will he kill me if I say the truth? Hannibal Lecter the cannibal._ “I thought Will would be able to at least see through you.”

She isn’t terrified like perhaps she should be. 

“Will does not see what is right in front of his nose because he is afraid of what he will have to admit and come to terms with when he does.” Hannibal’s voice is smooth, and Abigail is reminded of a visit to the liquor store with her father; how when they got home, her father had let her pop open a bottle of champagne and drink it straight from the bottle. It had bubbled in her mouth, the way nervous laughter always seemed to, and stung on its way down her throat. She had resisted the urge to spit it back up as it sat in her mouth, burning and disgusting, because she had wanted to impress her father. With every swallow of the champagne, the taste got smoother and more bearable. But her father had still been responsible, and he had sent her to bed before her mother returned home. Hannibal’s voice makes her think of that champagne, something she slowly got more and more comfortable with.

“Do you have any wine?”

Hannibal raises an eyebrow but doesn’t question her. He waits for her to answer on her own.

“Just…you made me think of it. Last time I drank was with my dad. First time, too. Guess firsts and lasts go together. But.”

“I don’t have anything that I believe you would find appealing.”

“I find _you_ appealing.”

He chuckles, deep and throaty.

“I could detonate you.”

“Oh?” His voice is pleasant, reserved. He’s retrieved a knife and is chopping vegetables on a plain but pretty cutting board, white and level. It would look beautiful with blood splayed across it, maybe even majestic.

“We don’t exactly have many secrets,” she murmurs as she watches him filet an onion with precocity. “You murder people and stow them in your fridge. I helped my father kill teenage girls because they looked like me.”

She bites her tongue; perhaps she went too far. Hannibal stops working the onion, and turns. He wipes his hands on his apron and it’s the oddest gesture, almost as though he’s trying to assert dominance.

He fails. Abigail stands tall.

“You’re right, Abigail.” Not even a second’s falter. His eyes are still, staring at her intently. She stares right back, knowing she is the only one who ever dares to look at him for so long. “Secrets shared between friends never stay secrets, do they?”

Her heart leaps into her throat. Exhilaration, not fear, she tells herself, because she needs to believe in something.

“Could you do what you say?” Hannibal asks casually, and Abigail takes a cautionary step forward. He doesn’t attempt to stop her, hands unmoving at his sides. Now he’s asserting his submission to her will, and she can feel it in his posture, shoulders slanted and head slightly bowed, only his charming eyes looking up at her. “Could you risk that?”

“They would believe me.” She presses a hand to his chest, leaves it there. She likes being in this position, likes the power is gives her. She licks her lips, and she feels strong, despite the fact that Hannibal is significantly taller than her, significantly more influential in terms of his bodily strength. “I can prove the disgusting things you are. I’m a victim…remember?”

He doesn’t respond, and she takes the opportunity to kiss him. It’s dry, simple, normal. Like a kiss between friends. No spark. No fire.

She wasn’t expecting there to be.

“I’m eighteen,” she whispers, and it’s a reminder to herself rather than the Hannibal. “I’m an adult. And you’re not my father.” She steps back, turns, heads for the door. Before she leaves she turns again to look Hannibal straight in the face. His expression reads as surprise, slight dismay, and she herself is shocked to see anything other than neutrality.

She grins, and feels wild. 

“Good-bye.”


End file.
